


As lovely as a night could ever be

by privatepenne



Category: American History RPF
Genre: im not even going to try 2 make excuses, this is a cindarella au and im not ashamed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-29
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2018-07-27 10:31:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7614631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/privatepenne/pseuds/privatepenne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All law clerk Henry Clay wants to do is have a fun time and get a break at work.  All Prince John wants to do is find himself and find himself a spouse.  At some point, their interests overlap.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

A long time ago, there lived a woman and her young son.  They lived in a little house in the country, out on a farm on the mother’s land where it was warm almost all year ‘round and the green-and-gold tobacco grew all the way out to the dusty blue mountains on the horizon.  She was a widow, running her late husband’s estate until her son was old enough to take charge himself.  The boy spent most of his time outside, fishing, riding, learning about tillage and husbandry and making mischief for the farm workers.  It took his mother all of her ingenuity to get him to sit down and learn his letters (she didn’t suffer too much for her late husband’s absence, but the boy could certainly have used some discipline.) 

She taught him how to write with her gold pen – he had very admirable handwriting, even if his grasp of Greek and trigonometry left something to be desired.  He also took up the fiddle and amused the boys of the neighborhood with his musical skill, as well as with his wit – he never lacked for childhood friends.

  
The two loved each other dearly and their days were happy and comfortable, and they seemed as though it would be like this forever.

  
But all good things come to an end.

  
When the boy was fifteen, tall and gawky and still growing, his mother sat him down at the little table in the parlor.  She told him that the farm was not doing so well; the soil was exhausted, she said, and she was leaving the land for a while until it could be re-tilled.  Her brother, knowing of her son’s talent for the spoken and written word, had found a position for him ‘in town’ – he’d start his apprenticeship early, as a law clerk, writing papers and briefs, training to one day open a practice and make a good living.

  
The boy cried and ranted and sulked, but when the day of departure came he didn’t refuse to leave.  He loved his home, but he thought that he’d be back when he was done, to reclaim his patrimony.  In the meantime, he had a chance to go to the city for the first time, to see amazing sights and meet new people!  The thought was thrilling and exciting.  So he put on his homespun frock coat, put his mother’s pen in his pocket, took his fiddle and valise, kissed his mother good-bye and set off for The City on the post-coach.  

  
In such a way do most stories of the slide into degeneracy start, with a homely, moderately talented farm boy setting off to taste the vices of the city, but fate had something different in store for this future law clerk in particular.  
  


* * *

 

  
“Can you stop pacing?  It’s going to drive me absolutely up the wall.”

  
The sound of footsteps.  Then, silence.

  
“You are in my rooms, you know.  You can always leave.”

  
“What, and listen to your father tell me about crossing the Delaware for the fiftieth time? I’d rather pull my fingernails out, one by one.”

  
“That’s a pleasant image, Daniel.  Thank you.”

  
“I try, your highness.”

  
Daniel Webster, comptroller of Internal Royal Affairs, was lounging on the day-bed in front of the window leading out to the courtyard in Prince John’s quarters.  He had a stack of papers on his lap that he absently thumbed through as he watched the other man in the room pace back and fourth, hands firmly clasped behind his back.  
“I just… Don’t know if I should do it today, or…”

  
“You’ve been waiting to do this for the past year.  Last time you got to the main road before you turned back.  Maybe this time you’ll actually make it to the city limits, at least.”

  
John stopped and looked down at him, agitated.  Daniel glanced outside, a little sorry for being so sarcastic.  After your friend – whose physical well-being you were contractually entrusted with – makes a show of trying to escape from the castle for the tenth time, it gets a little tedious.  If Daniel were a prince (a scenario he thought about more often than he’d admit), he would be out every night, enjoying what the city had to offer to an adventurous young man with gold in his pockets.  The palace was grand, certainly; but it was too stifling for a boy coming into adulthood.

  
“I just – how do I know that father hasn’t sent riders after me?  Do you know how disappointed he’d be if he knew I was – absconding?”

  
“He’s James Monroe, my god.  He was probably out… I don’t know, jaywalking, whatever your father thinks is edgy, when he was five years younger than you.”

  
John sighed, straightening his back.  “I just don’t want him worrying about me.  I know he wants to keep me safe, but how am I supposed to rule a kingdom when he never lets me out of his sight? Or the sight of people he hires to watch over me?  No offense, of course,” he added.  Daniel shrugged, smiled.  None taken.  Of course, if he were prince he would have cold-cocked his ‘protector’ and made a run for the hills as soon as the king’s back was turned.  

  
“It looks like the weather’s going to be nice, at least.  It’ll be a good day to run away.  Just send me a note if you’re doing it so I can think up a good alibi.  And don’t forget to bring a map.”

  
John smiled.  “I’m sheltered, not stupid, you mi-“  there was a knock at the door and the two looked up.  “Come in,” John called.

  
The king cracked the door open and leaned into the room.  “I hope I’m not interrupting anything, boys,” he said with a smile.  “I was hoping I might speak with the prince.”

  
Daniel was already off the daybed, papers in hand, dusting off his black coat.  “Not a problem, your highness,” He said quickly, and gave John a cursory bow and a pointed look before leaving out the door to the sunny courtyard.

  
King James stepped into the anteroom, closing the door softly behind him.  He didn’t visit his son’s rooms as often as he liked to – Jefferson told him that he needed to give him ‘space’ (which was a laugh, coming from him).  But he had important business to talk about.

  
“Is there something wrong, father?” John asked, eyes wide.  James smiled.  His son looked so much like he did at his age – tall, well formed, dark haired, serious – everything a respectable prince should be.  Already a man.  Good god, it seemed like just weeks ago when he was in his frock and leading-strings, learning how to read on his father’s knee.

  
“Not at all, Johnnie.  I just wanted to talk with you.  You know, see what’s going on.”

  
John raised his eyebrows and took a seat in the side chair behind him.

  
“Well, my Latin has improved dramatically, so Gallatin says, anyways.  I’ll be through Thucydides by the end of the week, and then I can focus my attention back to international diplomacy and diplomatic law.  I have my next month’s studies planned out so by autumn I-“

  
James cut him off with a wave. “As glad as I am to see you applying yourself to your studies, my dear boy, I wasn’t talking about your school work.”

  
John stared up at him.

  
James sighed.  “John, you’ll be a capable ruler after I’m gone, if intelligence and kindness has anything to do with it.  But… there’s more to ruling than a thorough knowledge of historical border disputes and the ancient languages.  I don’t think I’ll be going anywhere anytime soon-“ he laughed “-but I would like to see you take a larger role in your princely duties.”  He saw his son’s face begin to light up. Ah, he was thinking the same thing!  Clever boy.

  
“Of course, I know that you’re coming into your own as a young man, and it’s only right that you start living like one and learning what it means to be an adult.  And it will benefit the whole kingdom in the long run if you start sooner rather than later.  And that is why I think that it’s time that we start talking about finding you a suitable bride!”

  
James finished with a smile.  He remembered how excited he was to get married, having the good fortune to find a noblewoman that he loved – and who had something to contribute to the treasury, as well.  But John’s face fell, and he slumped back into the chair.

  
“Ah.”

  
“You’re not happy about it?  Ruling a sole’ would be very irregular, my dear boy.”

  
“I know, I know, but… I hoped… That I might learn a little more of the world first.  Before I take on any obligations of the marital sort.”  His voice had gotten so quiet as to be inaudible.  James sighed, disappointed.

  
“Well, you don’t have to make a decision right now, of course.  You’ve only just reached your majority.  Take your time. But – start thinking about it.”  He set the book that he was holding on the day bed – a collection of family trees from the most eminent royal families on the continent.  John still looked rather wilted, so he leaned over and ruffled his wiry hair for good measure. “Chin up, Johnnie, it’s a wedding, not a court summons,” he added mildly as he left.  “And the chef is preparing mutton stew tonight, by the way! Your favorite!”  And he closed the door.

  
John was still staring at the bottom of the paneling on the wall, rubbing his temple.  Unbelievable.  Here he was, 18, having barely spent a day outside of royal authority, knowing little if anything subjectively about the vast commonwealth he was about to rule, and now he was supposed to start a family?

  
In a fit of uncharacteristic pique, he knocked the book to the floor and stood up brusquely, looking outside. The sky was bright blue, dotted with clouds, and it was unseasonably warm.  He could see Daniel talking to a guardsman underneath an orange tree, broad black hat flapping about on his head.  

  
He had his boots and ragged great-coat on almost before he knew what his hands and feet were doing.

  
It was a good day to run away.

* * *

  
Good God, he wished that he could run away.  Or even get outside.  Get a good lungful of fresh air and he’d be set for the next four hours of copying and busywork, he swore.

  
The sound of papers dropping to his desk made him look up.  Tom was glaring down at him with his perpetual sneer.

   
“Mr. Jackson wants these checked with the deeds we filed last year.”  The deeds I filed last year, Henry mentally corrected him.

  
“And I suppose he asked for me to do it in particular, since he thinks so highly of me,” he responded, rolling his eyes.  Ten to one Jackson had asked Tom to do it but the other clerk was too lazy.

  
“It doesn’t take any skill, Clay.  Thankfully for you.  ‘Cause I’m not going to do it, and he’ll pitch a fit if they’re not done by tomorrow.”  And he turned on his heel and strode out of the office adjoining Andrew Jackson’s law office.

  
Clay sighed.  He’d just finished his copying work and had expected to get a rare afternoon off afterwards. He reached over and flipped through the inch-thick stack of papers – this would take a few hours more.  Another late night.  He gently stretched out his right hand, already cramping from use.

  
“Did Mr. Benton grace us with his presence again?”  He heard a voice coming from out of the front room.  The third of the three law clerks, Martin Van Buren, leaned up against the doorjam, expression flat and unreadable as always.

  
“You just missed him, Mattie.”

  
“Shame.”   

  
Clay huffed.  He didn’t like either of his coworkers overmuch, but at least Van Buren made a genuine effort to be civil.  Their employer, Andrew Jackson, was a notoriously temperamental man, and he picked favorites – and Henry was not one of those favorites.  So while Tom Benton and Van Buren got early afternoons off and a place in the sunny front room, Henry was relegated to the grimy, cramped back offices, filled with papers and boxes since Jackson couldn’t be assed to clean up.  
“Hey, Clay.  I’m supposed to deliver these files to old Quincy Adams on Broad street, and I thought, well, I don’t know my way around half so well as you, and anyways I don’t want to get my trouser hem muddy, and Mr. Jackson would be much more lenient if I didn’t finish those deeds than if you didn’t.  What do you say to switching jobs with me?”  Van Buren asked, waving the leather portfolio he had in his hand.

  
Clay sprang up, grinning. “I knew there was a reason I liked you best, Mattie!”  He exclaimed.  He strode around the desk and up to the door, snatching the portfolio, tossing it onto the desk in the front room, and kissing the shorter man on the top of his curly golden head. “And it isn’t just because Tom is an obnoxious bully, I promise.”

  
Van Buren rolled his eyes.  “Don’t get used to it, Clay,” he started, but Henry was already out the door and heading to the boarding house across the street where he kept his rooms, dodging pedestrians on his way, portfolio clutched in his hands.  He could get to Adams’ in a half hour and have the rest of the afternoon to himself – the possibilities were endless, he thought, mind racing.  He ran to his room, squirreled away on the third floor, and picked up his fiddle in its case.  Better safe than sorry.  And then he was out again, calculating – he could take first street since the supper rush was over, but wasn’t the intersection with Broadway under construction? 

He could cut through the alley behind the Hole in the Wall, then take Virginia to Broad street and avoid the financial district and the Capitol, which would be choked with promenaders.  He let his feet guide him through the streets, half of them narrow winding holdovers from the medieval city, half broad and straight newly constructed and lined with tall, whitewashed buildings.  The city at midday was bustling; he passed through three markets, two for food (bought a pear) and one for fabric (he stopped to feel a nice green striped silk taffeta and a black broadcloth, warm from the sun – more expensive than he could afford in a year) and accidentally interrupted a wedding party on his way to the fashionable residential area where Mr. Adams kept his law office.  It made him feel alive.  It was what he came to the city for, besides taking the position his mother seemed so excited about, and it was the only reason he stayed despite his ill treatment.  The thought that if he just held on for long enough, left his clerkship to pursue law, actual law, he’d make enough to enjoy the brilliant life around him.  He’d been here for five years and he wasn’t anywhere closer than he had been when he got here, but….

  
Mr. Adams’ law office couldn’t be more different from Mr. Jackson’s.  It was impeccably kept, the painted trim fresh, the street outside quiet but for carriage wheels.  It faced a row of townhouses, and beyond, via a blindingly white road through carefully maintained wilderness, the castle.  It sat at the base of the mountains, gleaming white and silver in the midday sun.  They were a little heavy on the symbolism back in the day, Henry thought as he stepped into the cool front room.

  
“Hollu, George, have any news?” he asked the dark-haired clerk sitting at the front counter.  George looked up and smiled.

  
“Good day to you, too, Mr. Clay.  I think I heard that there’s a subscription ball at the Hole in the Wall later this evening.  There might also be a dance, or an assembly, I’m not sure, at the Golden Hind, if you want to go that far out tonight.  It might be worth it for the punch.”

  
Clay shrugged, smiling.  He’d never met a clerk from Adams’ office who knew how to have fun, but George at least knew his way around the city.  “Plenty of opportunities for me to ply my trade, then.  Or flirt.  Where are you going to go?”

  
“Neither,” came a sonorous voice from behind him, and he felt the portfolio get snatched out of his hand.  “Mr. Dandridge understands that such private improprieties as drinking and dancing among strangers frequently reflect ill on his public life, and that of his employer.”

  
“Hello, Mr. Adams.  Jackson sends his regards,” Clay said cheerfully, rocking back on his heels.  George suddenly seemed very interested in the ledger-book on his desk, his ears turning red.

  
“I’m sure he does,” Adams responded flatly as he flipped through the portfolio.  Henry was fascinated by he way that his sharply-angled eyebrows twitched as he read.  And quite fixated on the way that the sunlight bounced off his bald hea - “Thank you, Mr. Clay.  These need no response, so you have leave to go.”  Mr. Adams interrupted his reverie, turning, preoccupied, and returning to the back room.  Most other lawyers would tip the messenger a half-dollar for their troubles, but Henry had learned not to expect that luxury from Mr. Adams and wasn’t disappointed when no money was forthcoming.   

  
“I think he seems to be in a more personable mood than usual,” Clay remarked, leaning on top of the desk hutch.  George looked dolefully up at him.  “I mean, he actually referred to me by name.”

  
“You know, as far as employers go, I would prefer him to yours any day.  We have our own offices, Mrs. Adams is always very kind, and he pays well.  Has Jackson ever paid you back for the bill of exchange of his that got rejected?”

  
“Hah! No.  When I’m a famous lawyer I’ll whip him in court and show ‘em who’s boss.”

  
“Keep on fighting the good fight, Clay,” George sighed, turning back to his ledger.  Henry recognized his cue to leave and touched the brim of his soft cap as he turned back.

  
“Now, I know that you would never consider participating in such execrable activities as public balls, but if, for some reason, you wanted to observe one and judge its depravity to better thank the Lord for sparing you from such temptation, I’ll be at the Hole in the Wall tonight,” he said with a wink and a slap to the fiddle case as he left, throwing open the door and stepping into the sunny outside world.

 


	2. Chapter 2

John let the pasteboard sheathes flip through his hands as he caught glimpses of the prints sandwiched between them.  He’d already pulled one out, an uncolored copperplate print about the size of his hand, showing King George in military regalia on a rearing horse.  He hoped that he could find something from the Illiad, his favorite book, or something picturesque for Daniel.  He was crouched in front of the latticed wooden display in front of the little print shop at the end of Broad street, listening to the sound of the occasional carriage roll by behind him.  The floppy, overlarge cuffs of Daniel’s greatcoat kept falling over his knuckles, so he’d folded them up, so intent was he on looking.  He’d gotten out of the palace easily, slipping out the servant’s door, bribing the stablehand for an older horse and riding out as if he had every right to.  The guards at the gate hadn’t given the young man in the ill-fitting coat and muddy boots a second look as they let him pass.

  
He’d found a stable to tie his horse up at, and meandered down the street.  It seemed like a residential district, all the buildings finely and neatly put together and the cobblestones still even.  At the end of the way there were more shops and offices, including the charming print shop he was currently, sitting on the balls of his feet, looking at cheap lithographs and enjoying the ambiance.  

  
“Hey!  You! Get away from there!” he heard somebody yell from behind him.  Instinctively, he looked up and over his shoulder.  There was a young man, angry looking, dressed in a rather out-of-fashion morning coat, brandishing a fiddle case at him and advancing across the street towards him.  John dropped the print and jumped to his feet, immediately grabbing for the knife he’d put in the inner pocket of his coat.   But the other man wasn’t running towards him, but rather down the sidewalk next to him, startling a pair of women walking the opposite direction.  And further down, a boy in raggedy clothes running away down the street, jumping into an alley and disappearing.  The women whispered to each other, shooting John and the strange fiddle-case-man a glance before crossing to the other side of the street.  
“And stay away, you rascal!”  The other man yelled after the boy, letting his case fall against his side before turning to face John.  

  
“I’m sorry about that.  I wasn’t yelling at you, you know,” He called, ambling back to where John was hastily picking up the prints he’d dropped.  “But you have to be more careful.  The pickpockets will rob you blind otherwise.”

  
“I didn’t even see him,” John marveled.  “Do people actually teach children to – steal and harass people on the street?”

  
The man shrugged sadly and sighed, looking up the street.  “I’ve seen them much younger.  They like to hang around the better neighborhoods, looking for crumbs of Christian charity.  I wish there was more to be done for them, but God knows most of us are too poor to support ourselves.”  He turned back to John, and seemed to actually see him for the first time, looking him up and down and giving what John could only assume was an approving quirk of an eyebrow.  He could feel his cheeks flushing.

  
“I thank you for your service, sir, since you’ve saved me my dinner money, but I’m afraid I have to go pay for these prints now.  Good day.” John said curtly, straightening his posture and looking as proper and put together as he didn’t feel.  The other man wasn’t necessarily handsome, tall, slim, loosely put together, with wild white-blond hair and a mouth that was too large for his genial face.  But there was something about the way he was looking at John, like he was a drink of water on a hot day, that made his stomach drop.  He didn’t think that he liked it.  He had to remind himself that, as far as he knew, John was just another middling city boy who didn’t even know how to avoid pickpockets.

  
The man looked at him, more amused than put off.  “Don’t tell me you’re trying to get rid of me, sir.  We’ve hardly met, and we’ve had such an auspicious beginning to our friendship.  I’m Henry.”  He extended a hand frankly.  John blushed again, angry at himself for being so transparent.  He didn’t want any overbearing company, he just wanted to see the city and be home before nightfall.  But he shook the offered hand for politeness’ sake.

  
“John.  I’m just – just in town for a few hours for business, so I have to rush. I’ve never been here before.”

  
Henry’s face broke into a brilliant smile.  “Never been here!  My god, but you’ve met the one person who can help you.  I know this city like the back of my hand.  I can take you anywhere you want to go.  I’m sure you’re a clever man, but after seeing you almost get fleeced, I can’t say that I trust you to get around safely.”

  
“I’m more than capable of taking care of myself, thank you.  I have a map.” John brandished it in front of Henry’s face.  Henry looked at him, still more amused than chastened.  

  
“Do you know which way North is?”  Henry asked.  John stared at him for a moment, then unfolded the map and flattened it on his knee.  The palace was to his right, and he was on… 1st street? Or Church?

  
“…That way.”  He pointed behind him.

  
“Only ninety degrees off. Not bad for a new visitor, I guess,” Henry responded, pointing to his right, to the print shop.  John sighed.

  
“Alright, you win.  Although I’ll admit, I’m not necessarily… going anywhere.  I mean, I wanted to see Christ’s Church and the piazza in front of the capital.  And maybe see a market or a show, wander around the streets a bit…” he trailed off.  “Just see a little of the city.  Before I have to leave.  Which I have to do.  Before dark.”

  
“Or what?  Your mother’ll box your ears? The spell will wear off and you’ll turn into a pumpkin?” Henry teased. “But yeah, I can take you there.  Any of those places.  And more, there’s a lot more to the city than the tourist destinations, believe me.”  He offered John his arm in a show of exaggerated gallantry. “And don’t worry, I don’t have anything better to do today than show a farm boy around the city.  In fact, I don’t think there’s anything I’d rather do.”

  
Well, John thought, if he stabs me and robs me in an alley, at least I will have seen a bit of the city.  Gotten some of the stab-and-robby city experience.  What do I have to lose?  And he took Henry’s arm with a smile.  
  


* * *

  
  
Henry couldn’t believe that there were people in the world who had never been in an omnibus.  They were everywhere.  There was no excuse.

  
But the trolley seemed very novel to his companion, who seemed uncomfortable with the mass of people crowded into the small space, but who quickly amused himself with staring out the windows, gaping.  If Henry hadn’t swooped in and saved him, the boy would’ve been shanked a block off Broad street. It made him smile despite himself, brought him back to his childhood when he was still awed by the size of the city. And it didn’t help that the man was beautiful, either. Properly stunning.  Like he’d walked off of a Peterson’s fashion plate (not with those clothes, of course, but that was the general idea.)  He carried himself with such grace, such natural poise, such self control, it was alien to Henry.  Even when he thought that he was about to get brained with a fiddle case he didn’t seem to break a sweat, just stood and moved for a knife, stone faced.  It was remarkable.  And pretty damn attractive. Did he mention that he was stupidly beautiful?

  
“So where are you from, John-from-out-of-town?”  He asked, leaning over to be heard over the clatter of wheels on the track.

  
“The Carolinas,” John responded, hanging on to the middle bar and leaning out the window.  That made sense.  Probably a cotton factor’s son doing business for his father.  

  
“Farm?” Henry asked.

  
“You could say that,” John responded, still focused on the crowds outside.  Maybe a well off planter’s son, Henry thought.

  
They reached their stop and he pulled John out of the car.  They were nearer to the center of the city now, at the edge of the grand marble piazza in front of the capitol.   
“Come on, the fountain is the best part,” Henry promised, taking John’s hand and leading him across the street.  Anything for an excuse to hold his hand, honestly.  
John was too engaged in asking him what, and who, everybody was to snatch his hand away like he thought that he would, and Henry was happy to oblige him.  He explained to him what Chestnut street was and what the bill brokers and stock jobbers did there, what the Bank was and what people thought of it, which launched him into a personal history of the gossip surrounding the eminent families of the city and their various transgressions against the people living there.

  
“I had never heard about any of that,” John said, furrowing his brow.

  
“Can’t imagine the gossip could have gotten to the Carolinas,” Henry responded.  “Now, as I was saying, John Randolph, the Roanoake one, not the Burgess….”

  
They’d spent a few minutes admiring the fountain at the end of the square.  John was sitting at the edge, watching a clutch of children dipping their feet into the water while their nursemaids looked on.  Henry had cut his pear in half and given one part to John before he remembered. “John!  You have to throw a coin in!”

  
“What? Into the fountain?”

  
“For good luck!  And a promise that you’ll come back again one day.”

  
John reached into his pockets.  “I’ve only got dollars,” he said sadly.  “That seems a little generous to the… the fountain gods, or whatever.”

  
Henry flashed a smile. “Don’t worry, I’ve got it covered,” he said triumphantly and unlocked his fiddle case, pulling out the instrument inside.  It was the same one he’d bought from home when he was a boy, and it had served him well.  He took a few steps back and pulled his cap off, tossing it in front of him and plucking the strings to make sure he was still in tune.  John was standing now, arms crossed, observing.  You’d think he’d never seen a fiddler busking before, he thought as he started sawing out a tune, tapping his foot along with the music. It was a regular congress reel, played double-time, and he found himself getting caught up in the music.  He imagined himself in the hall at the Hole in the Wall, with the greasy candlelight flickering and two lines of couples swinging and setting while the dance master tried to stay sober enough to call.  

  
He got a few catcalls and claps, and within a minute or so he had attracted a small crowd, pressed along the edge of the grand fountain to watch him play.  John was grinning, falteringly clapping along.  A lady and her lady’s maid tossed a few pennies into his hat as they passed, and he gave them a wink in return.  A businessman eating chestnuts from a paper funnel flicked him a five cent piece.  By the time he wrapped up a second reel and took a bow, he had a hat full of coins.

  
“If you play too long, the police get suspicious,” he explained to John as he put his fiddle away.

  
“That was wonderful, Henry.  Where did you learn to play?”  John asked, eyes bright. Henry shrugged.

  
“Picked it up from the boys at home, I guess.  It helps to have a skill when you’re an only child without any friends nearby.”

  
“I know how that feels.  I have one friend, and I think he only puts up with me because he’s sorry for me since my father’s so strict.”

  
“Well, if he lets his son wander around the city with nothing more than a knife and a few dollars, he should be stricter.”  John looked away, picking at his cuffs.

  
“Well, I…”

  
“Oh, damn me.  Did you run away?”  Henry asked, laughing with disbelief.

  
“I slipped out for the day, that’s all.  I knew that I wouldn’t be missed, and I wanted to see a little of the world.” John said defensively.  “And if I’m back before tomorrow, he won’t be any the wiser.”

  
Henry shook his head, chuckling. This one was full of surprises.  He held out a coin. “Here.  You kiss it, close your eyes and throw it over your shoulder into the fountain.”  John took the coin and positioned his heels at the very edge of the rim, and gingerly kissed the coin’s face.  “What if I miss?”

  
“John, if you manage to miss the giant body of water right behind you, then I’ll throw you in the fountain.”

  
John pouted and closed his eyes.  As he did, one of the children from before, chasing his ball, bowled right into him, toppling him into the fountain with a cry.  

  
Or he would have, if Henry hadn’t dropped his case and grabbed him, barely saving him from the water and pulling him back over the rim.  John was clutching his shoulders, grey eyes wide. “Good God,” he managed, fingers still digging into Henry’s arm.  “and… a good catch, sir.  Thank you.”

  
Henry flashed him an ironic smile.  They were only a few inches apart, enough to feel the rasp of John’ breath.  “Maybe talking about throwing you in jinxed it.”  

  
John frowned.  “It couldn’t be, Henry.  I got the coin into the fountain, after all.”

  
Henry laughed.


	3. Chapter 3

They spent hours walking through the city together, Henry taking him through all sorts of circuitous paths that he swore were shortcuts.  Each time, John grew less and less afraid of being roughed up by him left for dead in an alley.  He could hardly complain, since he was getting a better view of the city than he’d ever get on his own.  Every side street and alley had its own character and its own characters on it.  He’d insisted on buying himself and Henry a half dozen brightly colored sugared cakes from a bakery because he liked the sign; they’d ducked into a consignment shop and tried on outrageous old clothes; they’d climbed a few fences and gotten chased by a washerwoman; he’d seen the Capitol and the public library; he’d gotten a lesson on how to haggle with milliners (it involved a lot of flirting, it turns out.)

  
“Hey, he looks like you!” Henry had laughed, pointing at the statue of King James in Regent Square.  John had wrinkled his nose.  Henry’d never met an anti-royalist before, but if they were all this handsome, he wouldn’t hold it against him.

  
They were sitting in front of the open façade of a coffeehouse, eating meat pies and drinking small beer.  One of Henry’s ‘friends’ from work, Mr. Van Buren, had ordered them on his tab after introducing himself.  

  
“You have very recommending friends, Henry,” John had said appreciatively.

  
“See, Henry? Very recommending,” Van Buren had said with a smile.  Henry rolled his eyes.

  
But for now they were sitting alone, watching the orange sunlight cleave between the spaces in the building in front of them.

  
“Is there anything that we’ve missed on your grand tour?”  Henry asked through a mouthful of crust, looking at the map.

  
“Nothing that can be seen in the time left in the day,” John said, feeling surprisingly disappointed.  He’d enjoyed himself much more than he thought he would.  It was a little scary, at first – the city was so big and he knew so little about it – but he’d loved it.  The public buildings and private homes, the people laughing and embracing and fighting and talking politics on the street.  There was so much going on and none of it involved him.  There were no ministers asking his opinion or tutors leaning over his shoulder.  No father, constantly telling him that he was the future of the country.  And there was Henry, always positive, despite working at, as he said, the most thankless job on the planet, always ready with a joke or a kind word, always wearing his opinion on his sleeve.  He was unlike anybody that John had met.  If he’d only had the benefit of proper schooling, he knew he’d be the best lawyer in the city.  The country, maybe.  

  
He wasn’t sure how he felt about the way he looked at him when he thought he wasn’t looking, but it felt less like a jerk in his stomach and more like a pleasant weightlessness.

  
“I have it on good authority that there’s a little assembly at that tavern we passed through.  It’s always a good time. You could show us some of your country dances,” Henry said hopefully.  “We’re always happy to bring in new gentlemen.  The ladies get tired when they’re offered the same fare every week.”

  
“I’m surprised that your charm isn’t enough to satiate them,” John retorted, taking a sip of beer and pushing down a grimace.

“I try, you know, but there’s only one of me, and that’s not enough to go around,” Henry chuckled.  “Really, though, we can stop by my room on the way there.  I’m sure I have a nice evening coat that will fit you.  You’ll stay overnight and be back in the morning, bright and early.  You can say that you just went on a nice morning constitutional if anyone catches you.”  
  
John looked down at his mug.  The world was blue with dusk.  He was a little scared, and very tempted.  “I… I’m afraid that I have to leave tonight.  I wouldn’t feel right, you know.  My family would be worried.”

  
Henry nodded and scratched his chin, disappointed.  “At least let me take you back to your stables, I don’t want you getting robbed at knifepoint.”

  
“I was rather counting on you getting me back, since I have no idea where I am,” John admitted, managing a half smile.

  
They ambled back to Broad Street together, walking along the Potomac to see the dockworkers cleaning up for tomorrow.  The brackish water was calm and purpling in the low light.  The bookseller’s stalls on the banks were empty and boarded up, and there was the low murmur of people returning to their homes after a night at work or dinner at the club.  For the most part the two were silent, besides the occasional remark about the city.  The close alleyways gradually opened up to a manicured river walk, and they got to Broad Street just as they passed the lamp lighter putting on the street lamps.

  
“Here’s where I set up my horse,” John remarked once they got to the stable.  He paid the surly boy leaning against the door and waited for his horse to be untied and brought out, He turned to Henry, who was considering whether or not to take a pinch of snuff in an effort to look casual.  “Thank you.  For spending your day watching over me.”

  
“Oh, don’t say it like that.  You wanted to get away from people watching over you, right?”  Henry responded with a crooked smile. “I just showed a friend around the city for the first time.  Wanted him to get a good first impression.  And I’d never been to the upper rooms of the public library before, so I learned something new, too.”  
John smiled back at him as the stable boy brought his horse out, and buttoned up his greatcoat.  “Perhaps you should threaten more people with your fiddle box, then.”  
“Or actually go to the library once in a while.”

  
“Unbelievable.”  John shook his head and steadied himself to jump into the saddle when he felt a hand on his arm.

  
“Hey.  When you’re in town again, come look for me, alright?”  Henry said, a little quieter.  “I’m on Virginia street.  Or at the court.  Or in any tavern where they need a fiddler. “

  
John sighed, then nodded.  “Of course.” It would never happen, of course, but Henry didn’t know that.  He was just a farm boy from the Carolinas, here for a day and gone forever. The thought made his chest clench.  It was a strange feeling.  He’d only been here for a few hours at most, and barely knew this man, but he found that he didn’t want to leave.

  
If he would never see him again, he wanted to make this parting count.

  
He turned around, caught Henry’s face in his hand and pressed his lips to his.  Or he tried to, but he ended up getting more of his chin than his lip.  Just a quick brush of lips.  Henry stared at him when he pulled back, rubbing his neck, awkwardly.

  
“I’ll miss you, too, country boy,” he said, voice brimming with mirth.  He leaned in and pressed their foreheads together.  “I mean it.  Come visit me, god knows I can’t come see you.”

  
“Alright,” John promised quietly, blushing furiously under the cover of night.  Maybe he could try to get away again someday.  They never got to see the college or Faneuil Hall, after all.  He turned and pulled himself onto his horse, swinging his leg over and settling into the saddle.  Henry reached up and gave him a generous pat to the thigh.  “Stay safe, it’s dangerous out there in the dark,” he murmured.  John smiled and nodded, brushing his hand over Henry’s before urging the horse forward.  
Henry watched him going down Broad Street, disappearing into the cool, thick blackness of the night.  He gently flexed his right hand, feeling it begin to spasm already.

 Then he turned and slowly made his way back to his boarding house.

* * *

  
John was still grinning when he got back to the palace stables and unstrapped the saddle from his bay mare.  He didn’t think that he could resist waking Daniel up and telling him about the whole adventure (he might leave the kiss out, though.  He wanted to keep that a secret, something to hold onto and savor the thought of on a bad day).  He could hear Daniel’s amused mm-hmm? when he’d tell him about having to climb over a fence in an alleyway, or getting swiped at by an angry washerwoman. He’d tell him about the coin in the fountain.  Daniel always liked to hear about stupid, sentimental things like that.

  
John slipped out of the stables, pulling off his coat as he rushed across the yard to the kitchen entrance.  He noticed that he lights inside were blazing, and he frowned, heart speeding up.  Did someone find out that he was gone?  Were they searching for him?  There was no reason why anybody except the guards would be awake so late.  He made his way through the halls and nearly ran into several servants, who brushed past him without really seeing him.  They weren’t looking for him, then.  He took the servant’s stairway up to his rooms, hearing echoes of people talking through the darkened corridor.

  
“Oh, thank god you’re here,” Daniel gasped when he saw John enter the study, sitting up straight on the day bed. “I didn’t know how long I could cover for you for.  I thought something had happened to you.  Jesus wept, your highness.”

  
John stared at him, tossing the greatcoat onto the chair.  “What’s going on?  Why is everybody up?”

  
Daniel rubbed his temple.  “It’s your father.  He took a fall from his horse on his evening ride a few hours ago and hit his head.  We – the doctors don’t know if he’ll make it.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anyways, schmoop schmoop.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> yes, i really am getting around to posting the rest!

A week passed. Then, a few months. Then a year. The world kept on turning as it did before. The city remained the same bustling metropolis, even though it was draped in black crepe to mourn the sudden, unexpected loss of the king. Lockets and bracelets with the late king's face on them became quite fashionable for a few months, and artists and print shops made good business selling royal paraphernalia that appealed to a country that was already deifying the late, well-loved ruler. The country welcomed his son to the throne, a little earlier than he expected to be there, but grimly determined to be as good a king as his father. The coronation was a somber affair, the prince dressed in mourning black.

Or so Henry heard. He was too busy at work to join in any of the festivities – the fact that Benton and Van Buren were allowed to go to them just added to his own workload. He’d gone to a dinner commemorating the coronation and had some very good raisin cake, but that was it for him. Honestly, he doubted that the new king would be too different from the old one; hands-off, conservative, paying lip service to the working-class but subordinating their needs to those of the landed aristocracy. Basic monarchial program. A young king couldn’t afford to alienate the gentry. From what he heard in the back rooms of the courthouse, though, the kinglet seemed to be doing pretty well. As well as someone only about as old as Henry could have done.

He was hunched over his desk in the back room, squinting to try to see his work in the low light coming in through the greasy little window behind him. Jackson was arguing a case (ironically, alongside Mr. Adams) and it required a huge volume of reference and copying. Henry was glad that he had such unfailingly good handwriting – it was probably the only reason he’d gotten the job in the first place. He finished up section 9, codicil 12-19, on the bureaucratic details of legal state and private usufruct, and was moving on to section ten when he heard a commotion in the front room. Surprised, he stood up, shaking out his legs and went to investigate. The last time there was a commotion, it was a piqued client waving a gun in Van Buren’s face. That had been enough of a scene to break the monotony of his life. 

But there wasn’t a gun-wielding maniac today. Instead, Mr. Jackson was standing inside the doorway, reading a letter aloud to the other two clerks, his cane tucked underneath his arm, sans coat.

“All eligible citizens of the city, and of the distinguished families of the outlying counties, are hereby invited to attend and receive the hospitality of his royal highness King John,” Mr. Jackson finished, flourishing the letter in his hand, a smile on his narrow face. “You know what that means, boys. I need you there with me to make a good impression. You’ve all been putting your nose to the grindstone this month, I think that you deserve to have a break and have fun.”

“And dance with a king!” Van Buren added from behind the front desk.

“Wait, what’s going on?” Henry asked. Jackson turned to him, levity laving his face.

“Oh. The King is holding a ball tomorrow night, and he’s invited everyone of note in the kingdom. There’s something about him wanting to find a bride, but I suppose he couldn’t just invite the ladies, so he’s extending the invitation to men as well.”

“Not that he’d have any competition. It doesn’t matter who he is or what he looks like, as long as he’s his-royal-highness, he’ll have any lady he wants,” Van Buren remarked. Benton laughed.

“And we’re all going to go?” Henry asked hopefully, grinning. A dance! But one with a real orchestra and tasty hors d’ouevres, and one that he didn’t have to pay to attend! He’d introduce himself to some well-placed civil servant who’d give him a cushy job and then he’d finally be out of this wretched place. The other clerks looked at Jackson expectantly.

“What would you do at a palace ball, Clay? They don’t need a country hack of a fiddler there,” Benton said crossly.

“Don’t be an ass, Benton. You all are free to attend if, and only if, you finish your work by the time we are to leave,” Jackson assured him. Henry’s smile widened.

“Thank you, Mr. Jackson! I’ll finish all this up in double time,” he said motioning to the stack of briefs on the front desk and retreating back into the back office, still beaming. He’d push himself extra hard today and tomorrow so he’d have time to prepare, and then – then not even Mr. Jackson could ruin his evening.

He worked late that night, the other clerks leaving him to lock up as usual while he squinted by the low lamp light (Mr. Jackson didn’t see the need to spring for gas lighting) finishing up his work. He made sure that his handwriting was perfect, since every letter and deed notice reflected on his work, and he wouldn’t be satisfied with anything but the best. 

He woke up with the sun the next morning, getting dressed and out the door in record time. The shop was closed; it was still early and cool outside, so he waited outside on the stoop, already tapping his foot with excitement about that night. The city was beginning to unfold in the light purple dawn, and Henry found his thoughts wandering back to the young man he’d met at about this time last year. He sighed at the thought, resting his head against the wall. He would like this view. He’d probably wake Henry up early to watch the sun rise from the roof (this fantasy was predicated on the thought of them sharing a bed, which made him smile). After he’d left Henry had held out hope that he’d come back – he realized that he’d been vague as to where he lived, but he was a little ashamed – but after half a year had passed, he’d given up hope. Maybe the spring would bring the man back again, like flowers blooming after the frost, flopping around in that ridiculous coat with that ridiculously serious look on his face. 

Van Buren showed up with the ring of keys and let him in, and he immediately pounced on the paperwork he had left.

“You look excited,” Van Buren remarked drolly from the doorjamb. 

“I am,” Henry grinned. “about tonight, not so much about the work. Have you decided what you’re going to wear? I think that my good blue coat might suffice.”  
“What, for serving the guests? Really, Clay, you’re going to make a fool of yourself in your rags. I would have taken you to the tailor if I’d known you didn’t have anything.”

Henry shrugged, refusing to let Van Buren’s casual remark throw him off. He was probably right, of course – despite working the same job as him, Van Buren always seemed to have more spending money, and he knew how to use it. But he didn’t care about how he looked, he just wanted to have a good time. Maybe being a little scruffy would help him stand out in the glittering crowd.

“It’s too late for that now, anyways. Don’t worry, you can leave me at the door so you don’t have to associate yourself with the likes of me,” Henry said with a wink, and picked up his mother’s pen again. “Now, I’d better get back to work, so shoo.”

He worked feverishly, only stopping for a quick bite to eat at the boarding house down the street (it was Fridays, which meant smoked ham, which was his absolute favorite). He was deaf to the sounds of clients coming and going in the room next door, and it was only as the light from the window began to fade that be stood up, shaking his cramped legs and his aching hand. He only had a few minutes’ worth of folding and packing and then he’d be done for the night.

“Mr. Clay, I’d forgotten that you were here. You were unusually quiet,” Mr. Jackson drawled as Henry stepped into the front room, work in hand. Henry bit back a smart reply in favor of a smile. “It was a pleasant change.”

“Just applying myself to my work, sir,” Henry responded, letting the stack of papers and rolls fall to the desktop in front of him. Jackson was sprawled out at his desk, an unlit pipe hanging loosely from his hand. “And I’ve finished with time to spare, so I am going to nip over to my rooms and get changed for tonight. Mr. Benton and Van Buren have already left to do the same, I see, and I hate to be last to anything.”

Jackson uncrossed his legs and ran a hand through his dusty red hair. “Well, we all know that. It’s funny that you always end up that way, though.”

Henry kept his smile on. He’d gotten good at that.

“You’re done with the Osbourne case files?”

“Finished and filed, sir.”

“And the Yazoo land briefs?” 

“Ready for you to look over before I run them over to the municipal hall.”

Jackson regarded him coolly. “Well, weren’t you a little copyin’ machine.”

“That’s me, sir.” He wanted to finish this conversation as soon as humanly possible so he could get ready. He was already bobbing up and down on his toes – a nervous habit.

Jackson laconically stretched out and looked around the office. “Hmm, I guess you have done everything that you had to do today.” Henry started to fidget. What was the damn man waiting for? “It’s a crying shame that you have to redo all the filing for the case that I’m doing with Adams, though. I know it took you all day yesterday, but you were using the wrong edition of the Ohio land lawbook.”

Henry stared, affronted. “No, I – what?”

“You used the wrong set of statutes. The copies from yesterday are useless, and I need the work done by tomorrow morning or Old Baldie’ll pitch a fit. And you’re the only clerk left, so you’re the lucky one to do the job.”

“No.”

“Pardon?” Jackson asked, frowning.

“No, I mean – we had an agreement, sir. I’d do what I had to do today and in return you’d let me have the evening to myself. That was our deal.”

“Do you have it in writing, Clay? I told you that when you finished with all of your work you could go. And that-“ he sneered, motioning to the stack of paper and books on the counter with his cane “-does not look finished to me.”

“This is flagrantly unfair. You let Van Buren and Benton go do whatever the hell it is they want to do, but wait to tell me about this until the last minute? What do you have against me? Do you – do you calculate the worst insult that you can do to me? Does grinding me down make you feel better about what a bad lawyer you are?” Henry spat explosively. Oh, god, he’d just said that. Oh, god. God can’t help you now, Henry, he thought. He stared at the floor. He could hear Mr. Jackson’s boots hit the ground as he stood up and stepped closer to him; he thought that he could hear the seething anger.

“That, Clay, was a damned mistake.” Mr. Jackson growled. He was face to face with him now. His breath smelled like tobacco. “Remember: you are worth nothing. You’re nothing, kid. I’d kick you out of here in a second if I wasn’t such a be-ne-vo-lent man. You mean nothing to anybody. You’re just a sad, pathetic law clerk who can’t get his damn work done in time, and that’s all you’ll ever be. Nobody in their right minds would want you in their firm, much less in their fuckin’ ballroom. And if you dare insult me one more time-“ he tapped Henry’s chest with the head of his cane for good measure “-I’ll do a lot worse to you than fire you.” After lingering for a second to make sure the point stuck, he turned and walked back to his desk as though nothing had happened.

“Get back to your office. And take that work with you,” he ordered mildly. After a second of remembering how to breathe, Henry did as he was told. 

\----------------------------------

Henry sat on his desk with his feet on the chair rubbing his face, his eyes smarting with tears that he refused to shed. He wouldn’t cry. That would be giving in and letting Jackson win. 

“Was this too much to ask?” he whispered to the window above him, voice unsteady. “This one damn thing? One nice thing? I’ve worked so hard. I’ve never asked for – for anything more than – than a comfortable living. Is that too much?” He sniffed, wiping his nose on his sleeve. It was already raggedy, he noted miserably, so it didn’t matter. He didn’t even look at the work he had yet to do, but sat there, cradling his head in his hands and feeling sorry for himself for a little longer.  
He sat there until he heard the front door close and lock, meaning that Jackson was gone and it was safe for him to leave. There was still a little light in the day – he could deliver anything that needed delivering now and finish the paperwork by candlelight when he got back. He stepped down, his limbs feeling ten times heavier than usual, and looked at the first piece of mail.

Deliver to J. Q. Adams, to his hands only, it said. Just his goddamn luck that he’d have to go halfway across the city, tonight of all nights. He looked up, feeling like crying again, cursed, and picked up the thick envelope. He’d better get going or he’d be caught out at night. The streets outside were clogged with carriages and the occasional milliner with their white and blue band-boxes, carrying last-minute shoe bows and breast knots. He saw a few belles and beaus through open windows or hopping into their carriages, dressed in glowing silks and creamy wools, spangled and embroidered beautifully, wrapped up in gauze and furs. Van Buren was right, he would have made a fool of himself in his plain, overstarched linsey-woolsey. He would have made a fool out of the whole firm. 

He reached Adams’ office later than he’d expected, and the windows were dark. He pounded on the door and jiggled the doorknob for good measure before banging his head on it out of frustration. He had been too preoccupied to realize that there was no reason for Adams to keep open so late. And he couldn’t leave it in the mail slot, since it was supposed to be delivered by hand. There was no way around it, he’d have to come back tomorrow to do the same thing. He wanted to cry again, but he forced it down. 

Oh, wait! He remembered that Adams lived next door! If it was important business he surely wouldn’t mind receiving official documents at home. Henry stepped back and made an educated guess as to which townhouse was the Adamses’ (he guessed the one with green shutters, rather than blue, for whatever reason) and knocked on the door. This was probably a bad idea. The man had a terrible temper. But he’d already had a terrible night himself, so figured that he might as well pile it on now to spare himself the misery of coming back tomorrow.

After a few moments, he heard footsteps, and the door opened. Henry blinked from the rush of dry, warm air from inside.

“Yes?” a woman’s preoccupied voice came from behind the door, and it opened further to reveal a woman, already in a flannel wrapper and a lawn night-cap. Henry assumed that this was the lady of the house, the long suffering but much-adored-by-the-clerks Mrs. Adams. He made a perfunctory bow.

“I apologize for interrupting you so late in the evening,” he said, managing to keep his voice even. “I have a note for Mr. Adams from Mr. Jackson, and I’ve been instructed to deliver it to his hands alone.”

Mrs. Adams regarded him, head tilted, giving him an impartial assessment. Henry was almost too polite to stare back. She was tall for a woman, slim, with an intelligent face and dark eyes, and he was fascinated by the length and delicacy of her fingers. There were wrinkles between her eyebrows, but also at the corner of her eyes and mouth. He decided that he liked her, for George’s good opinion if for nothing else. She sighed.

“You’re Mr. Jackson’s clerk, I presume?”

“Henry Clay, at your service, ma’am. My apologies for not introducing myself. It’s been-“ he straightened up, dropping his voice, “a bit of a night for me.”

“Why don’t you come in? I’ll take your note to Mr. Adams so that if it needs a response, we won’t have to send one of our clerks to you tomorrow morning.”

Henry nodded. It would be weird, having seen the inside of Old Quincy Adams’ house, but it would be an interesting story to tell to the rest of the clerks. Mrs. Adams disappeared inside and Henry followed her through the anteroom into the neat, dark, tastefully-decorated front parlor. There was a fire crackling in the marble fireplace on the other end of the room, and he could see somebody sitting in one of the armchairs in front of it.

“Who was it, Louisa?” He heard Mr. Adams ask as Mrs. Adams leaned over the head of the armchair and laid Henry’s letter next to him.

“Mr. Jackson’s clerk, with a note for you.”

“At this hour? This is most irregular, Mr. Clay.” Mr. Adams turned and fixed his glare on Henry, who wilted under his gaze.

“My deepest apologies, sir, I assure you my actions don’t speak for-“

“Don’t, Mr. Adams. The poor boy looks miserable enough. Do you think he’d be running around the city like a postman at this hour by his own desire?” Mrs. Adams interrupted him. “You always say that Mr. Jackson treats his clerks poorly. We ought to pity him. I have half a mind to get him something to drink for his trouble, coming all the way here.”

Mr. Adams raised his eyebrows and turned back to his book. Henry stared, jaw slack. He didn’t think it was possible to be brave enough to talk back to John Quincy Adams!

“If it’s all the same to you, ma’am – I mean, I’m very thankful for your kind offer, if that was an offer, but I really just want to get back, I have more work to do before the night is out and if it’s not done I’ll probably be turned out, and since I can’t go to the ball like everyone else I just want to go to bed and be alone –“ Mrs. Adams cut him off with a wave of the hand.

“Mr. Adams, there is a ball tonight, isn’t there?” She asked.

“Hm?”

“At the palace. Isn’t the King having a grand party?”

Mr. Adams rubbed his chin. “Yes, I recall something about that. What about it?”

Mrs. Adams looked at Henry, who was standing awkwardly in the parlor doorway, nervously picking his nails. “Did Mr. Jackson keep you from going to the ball?” She asked. He nodded miserably. “Because you had work to do?” 

“Because he gave me work to do, ma’am.” 

“Do you think you were ill-used?” 

Henry hesitated. He really, really didn’t want to insult his master in front of Mr. Adams. “I don’t think I was treated fairly, ma’am.” 

“But you’re here anyways.”

“I have an obligation to my master. And besides, I’m not exactly cut out for a party at the palace in this,” he said with a brave attempt at a smile, holding out his arms. “They wouldn’t want to see any of me there. I’d be an embarrassment.”

Mrs. Adams smiled a little. “No, no… I would think not. But wait here a moment.” She left Mr. Adams’ side and disappeared into a side door, leaving Henry and her husband to their uncompanionable silence, Mr. Adams reading the letter and Henry, afraid to move too suddenly for fear of breaking something, stared around the room. A few minutes later Mrs. Adams reappeared, holding a large papered pasteboard box.

“This is a little bit dusty… But we’ll see what we have here.” She motioned for Henry to come closer as she set the box down and opened it, pulling out a green-striped silk tailcoat and shaking it out. She held it up to Henry and squinted. “A little big in the waist, but it’s nothing that a few pins wouldn’t help.”

“Ma’am?” Henry asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Please, call me Louisa. And here, this is a little out of style, but it is a fancy dress ball, after all.” She handed him an ivory satin waistcoat, richly embroidered down the front. “And the matching breeches, thank goodness… Now all we need is a good shirt and stock. And a pair of gloves.”

“For what?” Henry asked.

“For you to go to the ball in, Mr. Clay. Your two impediments that kept you from going were your work and your wardrobe. Mr. Adams will vouch for your being here discussing the case, so your master can’t say that you weren’t working. And Charles’ old court suit here will take care of the second point. He thought it was too frivolous to wear, so it’s nearly good as new, you see, just a little musty.”

Henry gaped at her again as she shook out the wrinkles in the satin breeches. The clothing was finer than anything that he’d seen and he almost didn’t want to touch it for fear of soiling it. He looked down at the silk in his arms, eyes suddenly filling with tears of gratitude. He hadn’t done anything to this woman but interrupt her evening at home and here she was, casually giving him everything he wanted as if it were of no cost. 

“But…” But he hadn’t done anything to deserve this… unstudied kindness. He half thought that she was going to change her mind and throw him out – honestly, that would be more in keeping with how life had treated him so far than her continuing to help him.

“No buts, Mr. Clay, let me make myself perfectly clear. You are going to go to the ball tonight and you’ll have a wonderful evening. You’re going to dance and talk and introduce yourself to some of the important citizens attending. Making connections is very important, you know. Most importantly, you're going to have _fun_. And then you’re going to come home tomorrow morning, return everything to its rightful place and continue on as you did before. Are we understood?” There was a little sadness on her face underneath her firm, almost maternal authority.

Henry nodded mutely, and she nodded back at him. “Now go change,” she said, ushering him into the drawing room.

When he came back into the parlor with his old suit bundled up in his hands, he felt faintly ridiculous. The sleeves of the jacket were a little too long, and overall he felt more like a well-upholstered couch than a human being. But Mrs. Adams (Louisa?) seemed delighted, clapping her hands. 

“Viola! Now you look more like a proper gentleman. Have you seen yourself in the mirror?”

Henry obligingly turned to the mirror behind him and surveyed the bright-eyed man staring back. He’d recently started wearing his hair longer and his collar higher, which gave him a distinctly more dandyish look. The fine linen stock, the lace cuffs, the sparkling paste-glass shirtpin, the silk coat… It looked completely unlike him. He turned a little to admire his figure. Maybe ‘unlike me’ is a good thing, he thought. “I guess I do look pretty sharp,” he admitted, grinning.

“It’s a good thing Charles left it here, although I wish he’d come back and pick up the rest of his things,” Mrs. Adams commented as she watched him preen, tugging at the edges of her handkerchief. “Don’t forget the mask now, dear. It was the one that I wore when we entertained in St. Petersburg. The Russians were wild for masquerades, even in the middle of a war,” she recalled warmly. “It should fit you, even with your nose.” 

She handed him the mask and he took it, feeling the excitement build in his chest as he turned back to the mirror and tied it on. It went from the base of his nose all the way to the top of his face – a simple white mask with delicate green and gold embellishments that looked like they were taken from a fine piece of china. It was the piece du resistance to his bizarrely fine outfit –nobody could know he was a poor law clerk living in the worst rooms in the boarding house, nobody would be able to recognize him from the street, not when he was dressed like a prince. He’d adopt an accent like Van Buren, and then nobody would be able to know him for his voice. He’d be completely anonymous; he could be a duke or a lord or a prince for all they’d know. Prince Hal, he thought gleefully, now that’s a title. He struck an aristocratic pose.

“Lady Adams, if I may…”

She rolled her eyes. “You should save the acting for the party, Mr. Clay, you don’t impress me. And speaking of which, you’d better leave if you want to get there in any measure of ‘good time.’ It’s almost nine.”

He straightened up and brushed off his sleeves. “I’ll go find a hack, then.”

“Nonsense. Nobody would go to a royal ball in a hack. I’ve had our carriage set up; you’ll go in that. It will be much more comfortable and proper.”

“He will not!” Mr. Adams interrupted. He’d been silent through the whole exchange, reading the letter, but now roused himself to a retort. “I cannot condone any more of this foolishness. You know my opinion on clerks spending late nights at these parties – it’s irresponsible and unbecoming. And I won’t play party to it by letting this young rascal use our carriage. I’m surprised at you, Mrs. Adams.”

The other two were silent for a moment, Henry looking to Mrs. Adams for help. “Mr. Adams, you were just saying a few hours ago that you thought that Mr. Jackson used his clerks illy, didn’t you? That he didn’t give them enough opportunities to meet other lawyers and statesmen and make a name for themselves, right?” She asked. Mr. Adams pursed his lips. “And wouldn’t you say that a levee at the palace would be the best opportunity for a young man to introduce himself to the right kind of company?”  
“The best company does not spend their evenings at balls.”

“We used to spend quite a lot of our time at them, if you haven’t forgotten, my dear,” she responded with a smile. Mr. Adams sighed, and Henry could see that he was already admitting defeat. If Mrs. Adams were a lawyer she’d probably win every case.

“… Fine. I consent to him using the carriage. But, I have a reservation. He has to have it back by midnight – I won’t endorse him cavorting into the small hours of the morning. If he wants to introduce himself to the local notables then so be it, but I can’t imagine that taking more than an hour or two. If he isn’t back by then, then I refuse to play my part in your little plot to let him shirk his work.”

Mrs. Adams gave him an affectionate pet on the shoulder. “Thank you, Mr. Adams. I’m sure Mr. Clay is very grateful for your generosity.

“Thank you, Mr. Adams,” Clay responded dutifully.

In short order Mrs. Adams was back out front getting the carriage prepared. Henry pulled his mother’s pen out of his coat pocket – there was no way he was leaving it behind – and scribbled a note on a piece of bank paper from the side table. When Charles Adams came to pick it up, he’d find it in his pocket. Come see your mother more. She misses you dearly, though she won’t say.

“Mr. Clay? The carriage is ready. You’d better hurry while the night is still young,” Mrs. Adams called from the front, and Henry rushed out to meet her “Let it not be said that Louisa Adams let a deserving young person miss a ball for lack of fine clothing,” Mrs. Adams murmured as the footman opened the door for him. Henry turned and took one of her hands in his, trying to impart to her how thankful he was, really speechless for the first time. She waved him off with a smile. “You can thank me when you’re the attorney general,” she said and patted him on the back. “Now, get.”

He climbed into the carriage and pushed his mask up onto the top of his head as he closed the door so that he could wave at her. Twelve o’clock, she mouthed, and pointed back into the house where Mr. Adams was sulking. He nodded earnestly. The footman cracked the reins of the carriage and they started down the darkened street, off Broad street and out to the palace.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> presented with few stylistic edits from my tumblr

It was the sound, pulsing and pressing against his head, that was the worst of it. The upper registers of the strings in the orchestra, arcing over the drone of voices, laughing and talking, swelling and breaking in his ears. He had a headache. John rubbed his heavy eyes, tired and disconcerted. He felt as though he were in a dream, where every step felt like he was walking through honey, like his head was filled with cotton. It had been more than a year since the ballroom had been full, and he had ordered it redecorated for the occasion, the dark Baroque paneling taken out and replaced with fashionable, plain trim in the grey and gold of his family’s crest. The golden chandeliers cast their rich, flickering light on the brilliant scene below them, the swirling collection of humanity dancing, chatting and drinking.

He had a good vantage point from the dais where he was seated, back straight, head up. Ostensibly, he was looking for his future bride, somewhere in the roiling crowd.

“You need to look at the list again?” Daniel asked from beside him, offering him the folded list of the noblewomen in attendance. “The night is still young. Plenty of time to choose.”

“No, thank you. I think I’ve at least been introduced to most of them,” John answered, talking above the din. 

It had been Daniel’s idea to have a masquerade ball, to level the playing field between commoner and noble, king and courtesan. John had agreed. Since he’d kept the doors of the castle closed for such a long time, he felt as though he owed it to the country as a whole to let them participate in its grand re-opening. It had been a numbing year for him, a year of more questions than answers, more hours of work then there were hours in the day, and no comfort except that cold acknowledgement that he was doing his duty as best as he could. It will be better when there are people here, he thought. I have been living too much within myself. I let my grief fester. Now it’s time to step up and be the king my father wanted me to be, and I will find someone to stand beside me. And I’ve sworn that I’ll find them tonight.

“Are you regretting holding the biggest singles mixer in history yet?” Daniel asked, half joking, half serious. He had thought that John was a fool. Just pick a name, he’d urged him. It’ll be better if you don’t meet them beforehand. Too much choice will spoil the decision. He was also well on his way to his fourth cup of punch, so he didn’t particularly care if he gave offense. 

“I’ve met some very charming people.”

“Don’t lie, your highness, you’d be out riding, pathetically alone, in a heartbeat if you could be.”

John shrugged. “I just want to find someone who’d go riding with me, that’s all.”

“First off, that’s sappy. Secondly, you wouldn’t be alone, you’d have a guard. Thirdly, I’d go with you if you needed someone to pout at.”

“The last time you came with me you insisted we stop at the creek for an hour so you could expostulate about Greek mythology with the proper backdrop.”

“Sorry, your highness, I forgot that you’re such a Phillistine.”

John snorted. “I’m going to go back down. Save my seat.”

“Godspeed, your highness, try not to break your future wife’s toes,” he remarked, sitting down on the elaborately carved wooden chair (he refused to call it a throne) after John stood up. He heard titters from the ladies down below and blushed underneath his mask. Sometimes, he let himself forget that he was a king.

He made his way down the sumptuously carpeted stairs, walking in the middle, exuding his regal authority. The crowd parted before him – once more into the breach, Prince Hal. He walked with intent, but on the inside he was starting to panic. What should he do? Who should he ask to dance? What if they were doing anything else but the minuet? He was sure that the room could see how his cheeks flushed in the yellow light, how his hands were trembling behind his back, feel how his heart was hammering in his throat.

Ah! Lady Madison, by the punch bowl! If it would be proper he’d throw himself at her feet and kiss the hem of her red velvet dress. He made his way towards her and she looked up from her conversation, flashing him a smile.

“Your highness,” she greeted with a bow. He smiled back.

“Your ladyship. Would you be so kind as to join me for – for whatever dance this is?” He asked, extending a hand. “If you think it proper, at least.”

“Far be it from me to deny the king a dance, or to let a handsome young man flatter an old women like me,” she joked and took his arm. She was a veteran of parties even larger than this one, and he’d deferred to her knowledge in planning it. She’d been a friend of his father’s, almost like a distant, well loved aunt to the young prince – he knew she had his best interests at heart.

The orchestra started playing. It wasn’t a minuet, which was the only thing that John was good at, but it was a slow waltz. There was a minimal chance of a wipeout (but wouldn’t that just make Daniel’s night?)

“How is the search going?” Lady Madison whispered in his ear as they maneuvered around the marble dance floor. He tightened his jaw.

“… I think I’ve made a tactical error.”

“You haven’t met your true love? I’m surprised, you’ve invited half the kingdom.”

“If I introduce myself to everybody here, I’ll barely exchange a sentence with each of them. How is that supposed to suffice for love?” He whispered back.

“Well, don’t judge them by looks, at least. Think about James and I,” she said, poking him in the ribs with her fan. He chuckled. She’d definitely done well for herself, but everyone knew that it was her husband who had pursued her, not the other way around.

The dance was drawing to a close, he noticed in a slight panic. He’d have to go find another partner. Oh, god. He could hear the crowd on the periphery of the ballroom start to titter. Were they talking about him? He hoped not.

“What should I do?” he whispered, eyes wide.

“Just choose one! It isn’t alchemy, John. Anybody in the room would be happy to dance with you. Just turn around and ask the first person you see, alright?”

He nodded. “Alright. I can do that.” The last two notes of the dance sounded and he twirled her one last time, nearly knocking off her feather turban, much to her amusement. He bowed to her and she gave him a brief curtsy.

“Behind you,” she mouthed. He stood up, nodded, took a breath and turned around with a breathless “Wouldyoubesokindastohavethenextdancewithme?”

\-----------------------------

Henry had gotten to the ball fashionably late, or so he’d told himself. He’d instructed the driver to bring the coach back up at 11:55 sharp and to be ready to make haste back – they should get back just in time. And he’d climbed up the (way, way too numerous) stairs, been greeted by the guards, checked to make sure he wasn’t hiding anything more threatening than one of those flimsy decorative swords, and ushered into the ballroom.

It was huge. More of a cavern than any room that he’d ever seen in his life; he had to crane his neck up to look at the dazzling lights and the muted murals and embossing on the ceiling. And there were so many people! They were all dressed so finely in jewel toned silks and sharply glinting diamonds he felt a little out of place even in the Adams suit. But he put on a play of being confident and holding himself like John did, and Van Buren when he got his pay stub. He’d be Prince Hal, he decided, if anybody asked. He threw a smirk to a pair of ladies who were watching him and watched them giggle, holding their feathered fans over the eyes of their silver masks. Cute, he thought.

If I were a fat old notary, where would I be in this roiling mass of youth and hormones?

The punch bowl, of course, getting drunk on brandied cherries and yelling over the music. He didn’t see any refreshments by the door, so he set on cruising the parameter, weaving between the other guests and avoiding dancing couples. He could see the dais now, the crown of a grand marble staircase, flanked by guards. The kinglet was sitting on the throne, long black hair falling out over his plain gold mask, an empty cup in his hand. He looked vaguely amused. He was getting this whole thing put on for his own enjoyment, Henry thought, he’d better be amused!

He was acutely aware that people were staring at him. Even if they weren’t admiring him, he’d pretend that they were. He knew he looked good – his face was probably his biggest failing, but years of running around town had carved him long and lean. He stood on the tips of his toes, looking out over the crowd. Where was the damn punch? Maybe if he got to the edge of the dance floor he’d be able to see better.

He finally broke through the crowd just as the song came to an end. Finally, he could take a breath! He double checked his cravat, noticing that the woman standing across from him on the dance floor was giving him a look as her partner bowed. He gave her his best rakish smile in return. And then her partner whirled around, coat tails flapping, and practically yelled a mouthful of gibberish at him.

“…. Excuse me?”

“I asked – I meant, would you. Like to dance. Now, with me?” The man asked with a look of distaste and panic. Henry raised his eyebrows. Dancing without being introduced, most irregular, sir, he commented in Mr Adams’ voice. Get out of my head, you old toad, he thought. Well, the man wasn’t terrible looking, even with a mask on, and… wait, was – was that John? John from last year?

“I would be honored, sir,” Henry responded with a bow, extending his hand. The other man took it rotely. My god, he thought, it is him! Of course, he’s probably some wealthy planter’s boy, he’d have every right to be here! He found himself grinning, heart leaping. What a strange, brilliant coincidence – he’d been thinking about him for weeks, trying frantically to recall the happy day they’d spent together, and now – here, as equals! He stepped up and slipped an arm around John’s waist as the other man fumbled around for a moment, remembering who’s hand went where.

“I’m obliged to you, sir… Who’s… Well, who’s the man in this dance?” John asked. Henry could see the tips of his ears turn red. He was momentarily taken aback. From how they parted he’d expected a warmer welcome. Perhaps – perhaps John didn’t recognize him. After all, that was the purpose of the outfit, right?

“I presume you’re the more talented dancer, sir. Don’t say you aren’t, for I always like to believe the best of handsome, brilliant people.” Henry responded, affecting a bit of a Dutch lilt. For extra mystique.

“You’re mistaken, sir. I assure you that I’m terrible at anything requiring a sense of beat.”

“Well, if you insist on it, then I’ll make up for that deficiency. You’ll be the charming one and I’ll be the one with good rhythm.” Henry rearranged himself so that he was in the lead as the music started. John was staring at him, grey eyes flashing illegibly behind his mask. Henry stared back as they started dancing, waiting for the other proverbial shoe to drop. He knew John was a little unobservant, but he would have thought…

“I… Do you, uh.. Come here often?” John asked. Henry chuckled.

“Is that how you’re going to start? Come now, you can do better.” John seemed taken aback.

“What do you mean?”

“Let me try. Something more like ‘give me my robe, put on my crown; I have immoral longings in me.’ “

“Good god. It’s ‘immortal.’ “

“I’ll botch Shakespeare for my purposes, he won’t mind.”

“Seeing as he’s dead, I’d say not.”

“Or, what about… Do you know what this coat is made of?”

“… Silk?”

“Lover material,” Henry grinned. This actually provoked a laugh, and Henry took the opportunity to spin him. He noted that everybody he could see in the crowd was fixated on them.

“They’re all looking at you,” he whispered to John, pulling him close, almost chest-to-chest.

“Believe me,” John murmured, his lips almost at Henry’s ear, “they’re looking at you.”

\----------------------------------------

John’s head was spinning; this time, it had nothing to do with the heat or the noise of the room. In fact, he hardly noticed that the rest of the room existed; it felt as though the ballroom had no ceiling or floor and that the rest of the guests had simply ceased to exist. And here he was, dancing with this dashing, mysterious, familiar stranger, clutched in his secure arms, wheeling around the dance floor…. It felt like a dream. A bizarre, cruel dream that he was going to wake up from, bereft, lying in an empty bed, in an empty room, in the empty wing of the castle, with nothing more than the memory of the stranger’s brilliant trill of laughter.

“Are you alright? You seem a little… perturbed, sir,” the other man asked, tactfully not mentioning John’s misstep in the dance.

“I just – could have sworn that I’ve met you before,” John said. “Was it at the ocean last summer?”

“I don’t know how to swim,” the stranger said with a wry smile.

“At the mountains last winter, then?”

“I’m afraid that I don’t take well to heights.”

“I must have seen you somewhere. I know that I wouldn’t forget you. And you keep giving me that look, and I feel like a fool for not recalling it."

“It’s been a little while. I’m sure that your life has been fuller than mine in the interim, and I won’t it against you, my dearest” the stranger responded with a chuckle. John smiled, ducking his head. He wouldn’t normally let somebody else call him a pet name, but he found that he didn’t mind.

“It’s still no excuse. Not that you’re making this any easier for me.”

“If I told you, that would ruin the fun of it. Now, let’s see if we can’t catch up to that couple up there, I bet we can outpace them-“ and he pulled John along in the dance. And the next one, and the next, and John’s head was starting to swim from all the spinning and grinning and promenading and slipping that they’d done, and as they finished up a polka he became acutely aware that he’d just danced a socially unacceptable number of times with the same person. It wasn’t his fault, he thought, he’d just gotten caught up in the handsome stranger’s inimitable charm.

“Would you care for the next dance?” The stranger asked with a polite incline of the head, white-blonde hair illuminated like a halo above him. John made a show of considering.

“I’m feeling a little faint, actually... would you mind coming outside with me for a quick breath of air?” he asked, trying not to show how nervous he was. The stranger nodded and he took him by the arm, leading him off of the dance floor and through the crowd, out the door under the stairs to the back garden. The cool, damp air hit him like a sheet of water and he took a deep, hungry breath.

“My god, but it’s gotten cold. Here, take my jacket,” the stranger offered, pulling it off.

“No! No. I mean, thank you. I’m fine, though. See?” he held up his hands with a smile.

“You’re so skinny, though. You don’t have any insulation. ”

“Well, I could say the same of you, sir. Here, if it makes you feel any better-“ he put his arm in the strangers so that they were ambling, side by side, down the brick walkway between the hedges. He could hear the music, muffled and disharmonic, through the foliage behind them, getting more distant with every step. He could feel the warmth of the other man’s arm pressed against his. He heard the other man huff in amusement.

They walked up and down the length of the gardens, perfectly in step, talking about history and poetry, politics and travel. John was as surprised as he was pleased to find out that, besides being a serial flirt, the stranger was actually remarkably intelligent as well. And he was good at arguing, too, without any accusatory tone, not gloating when he’d debated John into a corner (which not many people could manage) and admitting the occasional defeat with honor. John found himself utterly enthralled with his effortless grace and motion, the rich tone of his voice and the unselfish pride he took in John’s intellect. If dancing with him had filled him with nervous energy, being here with him alone set him strangely at peace. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed since they had stepped out; Daniel was probably looking for him; he didn’t particularly care anymore. 

“And your mother?”

“She manages our lands,” the stranger said with a smile as he stepped along the marble rim of the fountain. “I don’t get to see her as often as I wish, but you know how it is with mothers. You see them again, and it’s as if you were never parted.”

“I wouldn’t know, I’m afraid. Mine passed away when I was younger. And – now I guess my father’s gone, too. I’m an orphan.”

The stranger faltered. “Oh, John, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”

“It’s alright. I’ve had a little time to come to terms with it, I guess."

“He must have cared for you deeply. He’s raised a fine son.”

John smiled. “You flatter me too much, sir. I could never fill his shoes.”

“And I couldn’t imagine what quality it is that you think you’re lacking in order to do so,” the stranger said with a comforting squeeze of the hand. John hadn’t even noticed that they were holding hands to begin with. “I don’t care what you or anybody else thinks. You’re brilliant. You’re a star. Too far away to touch, but bring enough to cast light across the whole sky.”

John took off his mask, letting it hang from his fingers from the knotted tie. “Except that I still don’t know who you are.”

“I haven’t made it easy.”

“Because that would ruin the fun of it, I guess.” John smirked.

“See? You know me better than you think,” the stranger remarked, stepping off the rim of the fountain. “Here, let me give you a reminder.” He slipped an arm around John’s waist. Yes, he though. At last, this. “Maybe I should throw a coin in the fountain,” the stranger whispered against his lips, and he could hear the smile in his voice. “For good luck. To make sure that I’ll come back.” and then he leaned in and pressed a slow, gentle kiss to John’s lips.

Oh, he thought. Oh.

He reached up and touched the stranger’s face, brushing his thumb along his cheekbone, resting his hand against the angle of his jaw. He hadn’t expected kissing to be quite so involved, but with a little practice, maybe…

Distantly, he heard the sound of the bell in town begin to ring. Was it midnight already? How did that happen, he wondered, bemused. But the stranger jumped back suddenly. 

“It’s midnight,” he aid, as though that explained something.

“Henry-“

“I have to go.” He grinned. “It was brilliant seeing you again, darling. It was a wonderful night. I wouldn’t trade it for the world. Thank you!” And he took off running back towards the palace. John stared after him, mouth gaping, utterly confused.

“Where are you going?” he called after him. As soon as he realized that he wasn’t kidding, and that he was actually, leaving, he dropped his mask and started jogging after him. “Henry, wait!”

But the damn man took off like a race horse, jumping up the stairs back into the ballroom. John followed in hot pursuit, dodging through the astonished crowd after him, yelling for him to stop. “Guards, close the door!” He yelled as he plunged after him up the stairs. But Henry was too quick, slipping through the doors just as they closed. John was a second too late, nearly hitting the door at full speed. 

“Get the doors open!” he yelled at the footmen, who were scrambling to pull the heavy oak doors open again, agonizingly slowly. Through the crack in the door he could see Henry jogging down the stairs, down to an awaiting carriage. No! He wouldn’t let him get away this time!

“Henry! Wait, please!” He cried as he finally squeezed through the doors to stand oat the top of the stairs. He knew he’d never be able to catch up to him, but maybe he could make him stop, change his mind… But Henry already had one foot in the carriage. He turned and waved, mask in his hand, smiling as he pulled himself in and shut the door, black lacquered wood against a black night sky, and the carriage shot off.

He leaned over, hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. Footsteps behind him.

“I sent the palace guards after him,” Daniel said sharply. “Whatever he did, he’ll pay for it.”

“No.” John stood up and took a breath. “He didn’t do anything. Anything that I didn’t want him to do, anyway. Besides running away.” He combed his fingers through his hair, agitated. Of course, who would want to chain themselves to a king? No matter how much they loved you there would always be something in the say, a diplomatic envoy to greet, another hour of paperwork, another ossified court ritual. Palace life didn’t have a lot to recommend itself to people who weren’t power-hungry.

But Henry… he felt that familiar pull in his stomach. Henry had come. He’d talked to him like he wasn’t a king, he hadn’t forgot about him, he’d been thinking about him all of this time, and… he touched his lips. “Promise me you’ll find him for me, Daniel. He makes me – he makes me happy. I need to see him again. Promise me?”

Daniel stared at him, taken aback once he realized that the king was serious, and looked up to the sky like he was asking what he’d done to get stuck in such a useless job. 

“And how am I supposed to do that, your highness? You know, what, his name?”

“He’s a law clerk.” 

“A law clerk! One of the several thousand in the city.”

John rubbed his temple. “His name is Henry. He plays the fiddle at taverns in the evening. He works… on….” He scrunched his nose, trying to remember.  
“Hey, what’s that? Did he drop that?” Daniel asked, pointing at a slip of paper at John’s feet. He leaned down and picked it up, unfolding it. Written in the most beautiful penmanship he’d ever seen, it read Come see your mother more. She misses you dearly, though she won’t say.

“This has to be from him,” he said breathlessly, holding the slip in front of Daniel. “This – just ask all the clerks to submit a writing sample and compare them! You can go around to all the large firms. I’ll appoint a special commission of guards to do it.”

Daniel took the paper and glanced over it, his black eyes suddenly tired. “Your highness, you have to know that this is a fool’s errand. If he doesn’t want to be found..”

“There has to have been a misunderstanding, though,” John pressed. “I just need to speak to him one more time. I just need to tell him-“ he trailed off, realizing how this all had to look to his old friend. “I promise, Daniel. Just this once.”

“If it means that much to you, your highness, I’ll start tomorrow morning.”

“He does.”

Daniel shrugged and looked away; John clasped his arm. They stood there for a few moments, silhouetted against the black sky. A cool wind began to blow from the city. It was a little past midnight.

_________________________________________

The next morning found Henry in the front room, a slipware cup of coffee sitting on top of the papers he’d put off the night before. But he was luxuriating in the dolce far niente this morning, scanning the paper for the accounts of last night’s ball in the clear, cutting morning light.

Glittering ball…. Far exceeding any other entertainment of the season, tho’ our hostesses surely could not have hoped to outshine the royal flame…. Several of Playford’s most recommending new figures were danced…. We have it on good authority that His Royal Highness danced several sets with a yet-unknown prince from a distant land…

Good for him, Henry thought. He deserved to have a little bit of fun. It was a shame that he never got to meet him – wouldn’t that have been something to write back home about, meeting the king! He folded the paper over to the back and tipped himself back in his chair, smiling lazily. Everything had gone according to plan – everything was back where it belonged, and, as Mrs. Adams had instructed him, he was going to go back to his duties obediently. 

It had gone better than according to plan, he thought with a small smile.

The front door opened and Van Buren ducked in, portmanteau in his hand, yawning. He looked unusually dishevilled, Henry thought with satisfaction.

“Good morning, Mattie.”

“Well, aren’t you in a good mood?”

“Unlike most I actually got some sleep, so I reckon I’m the happiest person in the city this morning.”

Van Buren laughed and took a sip of Henry’s coffee. “I’m sorry you couldn’t come last night. We missed you.”

“Sure you did.”

“Really, I was sorry you couldn’t come. There was a lot of dancing, you would’ve had a good time. You’re a better fiddler than the violinists there.”

“Aw, thanks” Henry leaned over the desk. “How was it? Who all did you see?”

“Oh, everybody. There were people everywhere, the ballroom was lit up like a lantern, the King looked remarkably handsome…”

“Did you dance with him?”

“The King?” Van Buren laughed. “He didn’t have the time. His attention was . how do you say it, otherwise occupied. Apparently, by some fabulously wealthy foreigner, I’ve heard he’s engaged to him, or they’ve run off together, or something of the sort. And then he left in the middle of the ball. There was quite a fuss over it. I did see George, you know, Adams’ clerk, we had some amusing times. A few dances with the ladies.”

Henry smiled. “That sounds about as I’d imagined it to be. I’m glad you had a good time. And now Jackson’s going to be on our coat-tails for the next year bitching about it.”

“Say it louder, Clay, I don’t think the whole neighborhood heard you,” Van Buren murmured under his breath as Jackson burst in the door, Benton on his heels. The older lawyer was so agitated he didn’t bother to give Henry his usual good morning sneer. He was clutching a cheap broadside in both hands.

“Good morning, Mr. Jackson!” Henry and Van Buren chorused. Jackson waved them off.

“Look here, have you heard the news?” he demanded, brandishing the flyer in his hand. Van Buren leaned in and squinted, while Henry sat back and shook his head.  
“The King is ordering that all law clerks in the city are to interview with the Head Councilor. They’re goin’ to visit every damn firm in the city!”

“What would they want to do with law clerks?” Van Buren asked, sitting on the counter (Mr. Jackson never let Henry sit on the counter.)

“Look alive, son, they must be looking for new appointments to a royal something-or-other. Think of the opportunity! One of you two will get the job, there’s no question about it. You’re the cleverest clerks in the damn city. You’ll be my ‘in’ into the palace. It’s perfect!”

Benton laughed. “Good luck, Van. I’m taking you down.” Henry stifled a snort.

Van Buren smiled and shared a glance with Henry. “Well, since there are plenty of others like us in the city, I’m sure the crown is spoiled for choice.”

Henry cleared up his work and headed to the back room as they talked. He doubted that this new scheme was anything noteworthy, but if Mr. Jackson played fair he might have a chance at whatever was being offered. Touching his mother’s pen in his pocket, he made a mental note to pick up one of those fliers and see what everybody was making a fuss about….

 

_________________________________________________________________________________________________

John felt like they’d been searching for weeks (probably because they had actually had). Now he understood why Daniel was so reluctant to start on this law-clerk-witch-hunt – there had to be thousands of law clerks within the city limits alone. How many people were getting sued to warrant so many lawyers? What was wrong with these people? But he was nothing if not thorough, and nothing if not stubborn. He’d let this frustrating, brilliant man slip out of his fingers twice already and he wasn’t going to do it again. He’d interview every single man in the city three times over if that was what it took to find Henry again.

He felt himself starting to blush again and he set his jaw, turning his mind to lighter things like wheat breeding and vector matrices. Daniel was sitting across from him in the carriage, reading down the list of law offices on the street that they were on. He’d watched over the past week as more and more of the names and offices listed there were crossed out, heart sinking with every stroke of his friend’s pen. He leaned back against the seat, staring out the window. If nothing else, this excursion had gotten them both out of the palace and into the city.

The people on the street would run after them to get a glimpse through the window when they passed.; when they stopped, they attracted a crowd of pedestrians gawking at the royal crest. John usually waited in the carriage while Daniel collected the writings, for his own safety, he said. John got a lot of people-watching done, bouncing his leg and wondering of the man he cared for was nearby, just out of his reach.

Daniel rubbed the side of his nose as the carriage rattled to a stop. They were in a seedy part of town and it was almost dusk. “Alright, this is one of the last ones. Cross your fingers, your highness.” He knocked twice against the doorframe as he climbed out of the carriage – it had started as a joke between them, knock on wood for good luck, but John suspected that Daniel was starting to look for an excuse to take his anger out on something. He needed to give him something very nice after they found Henry. Marquis Daniel Webster had a good ring to it…. Some nice land in Massachusetts…. He sighed, closing his eyes, thinking about that night by the fountain…

He cracked open the carriage window to let a cool breeze in – it was getting stuffy. The sounds of the street outside filled the space like an audio camera obscura and he leaned against the wall of the carriage, smiling. Maybe if he waited by the fountain in the square for long enough Henry would show up again with his fiddle, and they could run off together to the country and grow old together in a little house on a tobacco field, the mountains just a whisper in the distance…

Of course, that could never happen. Henry had too much to offer to the world, and the world demanded too much of John. But maybe they’d find a compromise.

He grunted, trying to stretch his legs out. This was ridiculous. He’d spent the most time with Henry, he’d be able to recognize him better than Daniel. And he was hot and cramped in the carriage, anyways. He looked out the back window to see the guards sitting on the back, swinging their legs, as bored as he was. He leaned over and opened the door as quietly as he could and slowly unfolded himself and stepped out of the carriage into the warm early summer air. He carefully stepped off of the footplate, careful not to shake the carriage too much. The guards still hadn’t noticed. Grinning in victory, he turned around and walked off like he knew where he was going. Across the street a little girl stared at him, lollipop halfway to her mouth. He waved at her.

He made a turn around the block to make sure that the guards didn’t see him leave before entering the little law firm himself.

“I’m sorry, sir, but I’m afraid we’re having a private audience-“ a young man with a cloud of golden hair stated, but John waved him off, letting his royal signet ring flash. Immediately, the young man bowed. “Excuse me, your highness, please, come in.”

Daniel was sitting on the leather bench at the front of the office, eyebrows raised. The blond clerk and another, bulkier one with curly red hair stood a few paces in front of him, and behind the counter sat a gangly older gentleman with a magnificent mane of hair and a pipe in his mouth. None of them were particularly familiar.  
“May I observe?” he asked, not sure who the question was directed towards.

“Please, make yerself at home,” the older gentleman said, gesturing to the rest of the office magnanimously. It was a small building, obviously handsome once but now starting to fall into disrepair. 

“Actually, I was just finishing up,” Daniel said, looking down at the papers in his hands. “I’m afraid that you two aren’t who we’re looking for.”

“Are you sure? I’d challenge you to find anyone more capable here than these two boys of mine,” the older lawyer pressed. Daniel looked at John, who inclined his head slightly. Nothing else here worth looking at.

“Are these the only clerks you keep here, sir?”

The lawyer leaned back. “M-hm. The only ones here at present, at least. Van Buren and Benton. They’re the only help I need.”

Daniel sighed and stood up. “Alright. In that case we’ll head out. Thank you for your time, all of you, god save the King, etcetera.”

“God save the King,” the others echoed as Daniel brushed past John and opened the door.

“Your highness?” Daniel asked, signaling to the door. “Come on, if we make good time we’ll be finished by supper.”

John pursed his lips. He could have sworn… He’d felt something different. Probably just him getting antsy from sitting still for so long. He inclined his head deferentially and turned to leave.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> thanks for hanging on for like 2 years y'all

Martin Van Buren was not a stupid man. Well, he’d put himself in a bad situation working for Andrew Jackson, a parsimonious, lazy excuse for a litigator, but he was making do with what he had. He hadn’t escaped from his family’s sad, run-down rural tavern just to spend his days toiling in the city, never advancing, never using his truly considerable mental talents. Always look out for number one, Martin, that’s the best policy. He was fond of Jackson (Benton, he could live without) but if he had the chance to jump, he’d leave them behind without a second thought.

And he wasn’t unobservant, either. He remembered a late afternoon last year when he’d bought meat pies and beer for his fellow law clerk, who he disdained of and pitied in equal measure, and the handsome companion he was trying to impress. It wasn’t a face that he would forget easily – sharply cut without being cold, firm without harshness. He’d been amused at Clay’s attempts at flirting with the obviously unaffected man; taking pity on him, he’d only stopped to chat for a moment. The fact that the man was now dressed like the king he obviously was and not like some street urchin didn’t throw him off any. Now, what Henry Clay was doing running around the city with the King was beyond him, but something told him that his highness was here looking for that law clerk in particular.

And wouldn’t they be thankful to him if he were the one to find that law clerk for him?

“Actually-“ he interjected just as the King and his Counselor were about to leave, pretending like he’d suddenly stumbled onto the incredibly obvious oversight. “Aren’t we – we’re forgetting Henry!”

The King turned on his heel and strode over to him, eyes flashing. He looked a lot taller than he did in the pictures, Martin thought. A little scarier, too. “How could we forget Henry? The poor boy’s probably asleep in the back room,” he continued with a smile. “I apologize for the dereliction, your highness.”

“That back room?” The King asked, pointing to the door at the back.

“Yes, it leads to the – filing office,” Martin managed. “That’s where he usually works while Mr. Jackson is with clients.” He carefully avoided his employer’s affronted glare. Clay had probably assumed that whatever was going on in the front room was ‘official business’ that didn’t involve him.

The King covered the distance in a few strides and jiggled the doorknob. “It’s locked,” he said flatly.

“Mr. Jackson has the key,” Martin said, head bowed deferentially. He’d seen Mr. Jackson quietly lock the door when the royal carriage pulled up in front of their shop. He had constructed some very interesting possibilities regarding why he’d done that in the hour between then and now – he’d assumed that his employer was just being petty towards Clay, as usual. But then again, Clay was the sort who spent afternoons wandering the city with the future King. Perhaps Mr. Jackson knew more than he was letting on.

The lanky lawyer set his jaw and drew the iron key from his pocket, handing it to the king with a perfunctory, robotic bow. If Martin was betting on the right card, he hoped that there was some royal appointment forthcoming, to spare him from Mr. Jackson’s famous wrath. He had avoided it thus far – he made sure that was always the favorite pet of the city’s darling Western prosecutor, but even the most domesticated animals had teeth.

The King took the key and strode over to the door, nearly dropping the key in his haste. The King’s councilor was up on his feet, holding the battered piece of paper that he’d compared their handwritings to. The King pushed open the door with his shoulder, spilling into the back room….

“There’s… nobody there,” he heard bare-faced disappointment in the southern lilt. He could feel his own stomach drop. He was sure he’d seen Clay come in today.... He hadn’t seen him all morning, but where else would he be if he wasn’t in his office?

“That’s just too bad,” Mr. Jackson drawled, voice tight. “Probably shirking off work again. Whoever you’re looking for, your highness, I’m sure it isn’t him. Unless you’re arresting him for stealing something important, in which case it’d be my pleasure to help you apprehend ‘em.” 

The King returned to the front room, still ramrod-straight, but looking as crestfallen as Martin felt. Back to the tavern in his hometown. If he made it out of this place alive after the royal entourage left, at least. 

“I… Appreciate your offer, sir.” He delicately laid the key on the counter. “But that will not be necessary. Please send your erstwhile clerk to the nearest guard depot so that we can interview him when he comes back.” Like that was going to happen, your royal highness, Martin sneered in his head. 

“Come on, Lord Webster. We should be going.” The councilor sighed and nodded, putting the paper away and shooting the beaming Mr. Jackson a venomous glare. Benton was barely even trying to conceal his smile. Martin, standing against the counter, folded his hands and bowed his head, a last vestige of respect. 

And then the front door flew open.  
\--------------------------------------

Henry had been careful to hide the papers Mr. Adams had given him in between the ones he was supposed to have delivered the day before (he’d gotten dragged down in other work at the office, but he’d slipped out in the morning while nobody was watching to deliver them.) They were letters of recommendation, applications to prestigious law firms in the city, and instructions on how to approach the lawyers and barristers there. Despite their mutual disregard, Henry had found Mr. Adams to be considerably better disposed to his case when he promised that he’d work for his own advancement, if given the chance to prove himself. And with the recommendation that the older lawyer had given him – bless his cantankerous heart – Henry finally had a way out of Jackson’s law firm, a stepping-stone to a better life. He just hoped that none of his co-workers noticed him leaving during the morning rush.

He took the long way home, not in any rush to get back. He ambled down Broad Street, looking in the shop windows, greeting friends and acquaintances. The trees up and down the residential street were in full bloom, producing explosions of white and pink flowers. The sun was just cresting over a mound of clouds and it was a balmy late spring day, perfect for spelunking in the city. But he did have to get back to work at some point, back into that hideous little filing cabinet, so he turned home once he got to the public library to turn in the book that he’d checked out (ever since John, he’d made an effort to do more extracurricular reading.) He took his usual alley shortcut to get back.

There was a very nice looking carriage outside of the firm when he got back. Perhaps a wealthier client? Maybe one of Mr. Jackson’s old friends from out west. The two footmen, in military uniforms, seemed quite agitated by something inside the carriage. Anyways. 

He threw open the door with a little more force than he intended to. In his defense, he was a little caught up in his mental recitation of Marc Anthony’s oration. He barreled into the office, shoulder first, and ran into the person who was on his way out.

“For God’s sakes, are the guards even looking at the door?” The man exclaimed, frustrated, as he bumped Henry back.

“My apologies, sir, wasn’t watching where I was going,” Henry remarked, straightening his back and staring at the surly gentleman in the black suit in front of him. “Doors, as I’m sure you are well aware of, have a nasty habit of opening. Perhaps you shouldn’t make a habit of standing in front of them?”

The man made a movement to argue, but – “Henry?”

Henry turned, stared, taken aback. “John?”

The man in black looked at John, and back at Henry. “Him??”

Mr. Jackson slammed his fist on the table. “No!”

John took a step towards Henry, then another, as Henry set his portmanteau on the table by the door, his heart in his throat. “John, what are you doing here?”

“What am I – I’m looking for you. I’ve been looking for you for weeks!”

“Weeks,” the man in black parroted flatly.

“We have – you dropped a note. When you ran away. Daniel, where’s the note? We’ve been looking for someone with your handwriting, looking at all the law firms, since I remembered that you were a lawyer..” he took the piece of paper that Daniel was holding out to him and held it out in front of Henry. “This, I believe, is yours.”

Henry took the note, still staring at him. “Wait. What do you mean, you’ve been looking for me?”

John stared at him, intensely. This wasn’t exactly how he envisioned the reunion. “Ever since the ball. I wanted to find you and make you explain why you left me. I wanted to get a proper goodbye.”

“… Looking for all young law clerks in the city?”

“I, well, I forgot where you said you worked.”

“Because apparently, the country can just run itself in his absence,” Daniel remarked. 

Henry looked at John, standing in front of him, back straight and grey eyes flashing, and his eyes grew wide.

“Oh. Oh, my god. Your highness.” He dropped into a low bow, nearly hitting the table on his way down.

“Don’t do that!” John exclaimed. “Please! I liked it better when you didn’t treat me differently because I was a king.”

“I didn’t know you were a king,” Henry squeaked out, still bowing. Van Buren, standing in the back, snorted. “My god, I put you in so much danger. You could have died, like, ten times, at least.”

“I’m more than capable of protecting myself, I’ll have you know. Princes aren’t raised to be utterly defenseless.”

“I almost brained you with my fiddle case!”

“Stand up, you-“ he tugged the back of Henry’s coat collar. “I would have incapacitated you out before you had the chance.”

Henry would have laughed at that if he wasn’t still reeling from the idea of John, the stubborn, awkward, brilliant sort-of-stranger, as the king of the most powerful nation in the hemisphere. “Why didn’t you tell me who you were? At least you could have told me at the ball.”

John glanced aside. “I thought you knew, you-…. Or, I thought that you had figured it out by the end. Would it have changed anything? Would you still have left if you knew?”

“I might have given you a proper goodbye, at least.” He laughed breathlessly. “Didn’t think that you cared enough to come find me either way, I guess.” 

“You didn’t think I-“ John made a noise of offense. “I’m completely taken with you, you idiot! I’ve hardly known you for eight hours overall and I’m irrevocably, completely in love with you!”

Henry didn’t wait to see the reactions of the rest of the people in the room (honestly, he’d forgotten about them at this point) since he was too busy lunging forward, grabbing John by the arms and dragging him into a messy, gleeful kiss. He felt a pair of warm, dry hands cupping his face and he smiled against John’s lips – damn him if he ever got tired of this.

“Even though I’m just a common law clerk?” he asked breathlessly once the pulled apart after a few moments.

“You don’t need to be a common law clerk,” John said, pinning him with his intense gaze yet again. “You can come back home with me. There’s plenty to be done – I need someone to help me. With official business. And… you have really good handwriting, so…”

Henry grinned. “Don’t tell me you only want me for my handwriting, darling.” He looked over John’s shoulder at Daniel, who was amusing himself with scuffing the dirt on the floor with his shoe. “But I need to find my own way, for now, at least. I need to prove to myself that I can really do something worthwhile.

John nodded, a blush settling over his cheeks. He let his hands fall to his side. “I understand,” he said, sounding crestfallen.

“Hey,” Henry leaned over and rested their foreheads together. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily, your highness. Now that you’ve found me, you have to put up with me for… for as long as you can.”

John managed a smile. “I don’t think that that will be a problem…. darling.” He turned to Daniel. “Will you make sure that his business here is finished? Any apprenticeship contracts will be paid for by the crown. I’m going to take Mr…”

“Clay.”

“Mr. Henry Clay back to the palace for dinner.”

“With pleasure,” Daniel sighed as he turned to the three other lawyers, brows arched. Henry took John’s hand, feeling his fingers curl into his, and they walked out of the office together, awkward but entirely happy, beaming and blinking in the rays of the late afternoon, into the chaos of the city.

\--------------------------------------

The gangly little boy from the country did, indeed, grow up to be the capable lawyer that his mother hoped he would be. He no longer worked in a sorry little room in the back of a second-rate law office, but he had his own, neatly appointed office in a very dignified establishment on Broad Street. His law partner was often a little cantankerous, but he let himself get roped into having Sunday brunch with them by his convivial, conversational wife. He argued most of the high-profile cases of Adams, Adams and Clay, since he had the most recommending oratorical skills – his powers of argument and persuasion became famous in no time. He always knew that if he looked to the back of the public seating he’d see a familiar face, dressed in a floppy overcoat, craning his neck for a better view. He knew that he’d probably see the face again that evening when he visited the palace to attend a state dinner, as the de facto legal adviser for the King. Then later, when they’d lie on the day bed in John’s old rooms, staring at the stars through the glass paned door, pressed against each other sleepily. As far as happy endings go, he thought, he got a pretty good one.

After the royal wedding Mr. Adams was offered a high-ranking diplomatic post, which he refused. He was later forcibly appointed to the King’s council anyways, which he grudgingly accepted ex posto facto. The King Consort still dropped by on Sundays for tea with Mrs. Adams, and Charles, when he finally came home.

Daniel got himself a nice thousand-acre plot of land in Massachusetts, which he retires to in the spring to avoid hay fever, where he fishes and reads Shakespeare and writes passive-aggressive letters to the King Consort about running the royal household. The King is endlessly amused by this.

Martin leaves Mr. Jackson’s law firm, deciding to focus on politics, which he is, predictably, immensely successful at. The royal family remembers his kindness – with their tacit support, he eventually becomes the city’s mayor, and he spends his time butting heads with the King and going on jaunts through the city with the King Consort.

Mr. Jackson continues with his work, in the same diligent obscurity that he had before. Benton eventually becomes a law partner, with similar results.

The King Consort successfully establishes a school for disadvantaged children from around the nation, to teach them the basic tenets of a liberal education, including the importance of good penmanship.

The royal couple – eventually the royal family – become a common sight in the city, dressed in plainclothes, checking in stores, watching performances, arguing, laughing and generally enjoying the ambience. The possibility of bumping into His Highness buying a funnel of hot chestnuts in the winter adds a frisson of excitement to holiday shopping, and the King Consort always makes a point of keeping candy on hand for the local children. In the summer they visit the King Consort’s mother in their ancestral home, enjoying their respite from court and reveling again in the unlikely story of their meeting.

And it’s safe to say that they lived happily ever after.


End file.
